


Forever Yours

by Rainey_Arlet



Category: Ghosts (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, Death, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:21:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26974315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rainey_Arlet/pseuds/Rainey_Arlet
Summary: Thomas's death, and the thoughts that run through his head.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 21





	Forever Yours

I did it for her honour, did I not? My death shall not be in vain.

‘Tis a noble deed for a man to dual in the name of the lady who holds his affections; even nobler to die fighting for her honour. I lay here, final breaths spilling from my lips like blood spilling from my wound, staring at the pistol whose handle I wielded in the name of the one I love.

Isabelle. My dear Isabelle. The one who holds my heart. If only she were here, if I only I could see her, if only I could hold her in my arms a final time.

She will come, as Francis promised. She will come to bid me goodbye. And if I may have the chance to confess my love for her one last time; though she does not reciprocate my feelings; my death shall not be in vain.

I wait for you, Cousin, and I wait for dear Isabelle to come with you. Fetch her for me, please. The pain burns through my skin and pulses in my bones, but it is a mere trifle compared to the pain in my heart. Fetch her for me, please, so I may see her one last time. If I may lose myself in those starry eyes as my own dim, I shall be content, even in the dark of death. 

I wait here, Cousin, tiredly gazing at the late afternoon sky; the sky I shall never gaze upon again. The pale blue of the Autumn heavens and the pure white of its clouds; oh, how beautiful it is. Vast and wide, high and deep, stretched before my eyes like an ocean of unmoving waves and rippling white foam, forever overlooking the cruel world I shall never know again.

My vision weakens. All I see now is a blur of the most beautiful cobalt blue; almost as beautiful as the grey-blue hue of lovely Isabelle’s irises. I feel an ethereal light surround me, warm and soft and comforting like the mellow evening sun soaking the world in its orange glow. How much time has passed since the piercing of the musket-ball in my skin? Does the sun set so soon? Or do heaven’s arms finally reach for me to pull me from my earthly bounds?

My body lightens, mortal weight lifted from my bones. I feel the pain slowly drain from my wound, becoming fainter with the passing of time as if it were ink spilled on parchment. I sink into hazy darkness, life battling the grips of death, consciousness slipping back and forth like the pendulum of a clock. And as the light around me warms intensely and engulfs me in its heavenly glow, I feel my soul slip from its battered cage as if it were a shroud of mist, ready to travel to whichever realm the hand of God deems it fit for.

Cousin, my time on this good Earth runs short. If you cannot fetch her, then come to me alone, for I wish to thank you for your kinship. Please, send my blessings and profound apologies to our family; their youngest, foolish boy of a son has yet to burn out his youthful fires, and ultimately, those unquenched flames have led him to his demise. Dear, beautiful Isabelle, the one who forever holds my heart, if you hear my desperate yearning, come to me, please. Pity me; I beg you. Pity the fond memories we share of each other. Pity every glance, every embrace, every dance. Pity me one last touch of your soft hands, one last memory to cherish in death. My time stilts short with every fleeting moment.

The light; it is so warm and intense, scorching my skin with the heat of flames. Yet I am cold in the evening air, exposed to the silence and stillness of the world around me. Death approaches; I see it, I hear it, I feel it. Swift and sure as raw gusts of winter wind, it approaches, and if I were not drowning in pain and sorrow and grief, I would have been frightened by the intensity of it. Death comes to me, silent and treacherous, and in it there is no beauty. For all I have sung of the black, beautiful sorrow of Death in my poems, I see now that my verses were mere honeyed words of a man who knows not of what he speaks.

But that foolish poet now knows of death. It is here. I know not how, but I know. Death has come; it is here, and I die. Hot light and frigid wind and weightless soul and stiff limbs; this is death, it is here, and I die, in silence and in pain. My last breaths leave the lips which no longer move, my hand drops from the wound which no longer bleeds, and I die, alone and unloved.

Yet still I shall wait for you, my sweet, under this very tree where I lay to die. I vow to thee, fair Isabelle, I will stay true as I was when alive. Forever yours, my love, forever in body, soul, and in mind. In life and in death, yours; as forever yours, I die.

~

_O, welcome Death, O sweet release._

_On this Earth, we are but lodger._

_For she was his Hermione._

_And he, always, her Roger._

**Author's Note:**

> for my favourite Regency disaster.


End file.
